


The Only Fish in the Sea

by waspabi



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:58:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waspabi/pseuds/waspabi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick makes it a point not to look back <i>too</i> much.</p><p>Like, it doesn’t help if he thinks, ‘ooh, what if that witch hadn’t turned me into a merman at Coachella last year’ or ‘ooh, what if I had legs and didn’t have to shout for Pixie to get me a drink.’ He tries to look on the bright side of the whole situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Fish in the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Since greedy_dancer's delightful [podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1922595) of this story is up on ao3, I thought I'd put the fic on as well!

Nick makes it a point not to look back  _too_ much.

Like, it doesn't help if he thinks, 'ooh, what if that witch hadn't turned me into a merman at Coachella last year' or 'ooh, what if I had legs and didn't have to shout for Pixie to get me a drink.' He tries to look on the bright side of the whole situation. At least he's got rich friends with houses and pools in LA, and who come visit him a lot, and Pix's pool has a lagoon where he can sun out and get properly tanned, and she's put in an extension chord so that he can charge his phone. Turns out you can do a radio broadcast poolside, as well. Who knew? It's not  _so_ bad. 

Maybe a little... dull. Sure, he's more tanned than he has ever been in his life, but when can he go out and have that appreciated? Or even just... pop down to the shops? Make his own bacon sandwich? There's just only  _so_ many times Nick can Instagram his flippers, you know? Even with nineteen filters available. 

It's nice, then, that Nick's friends are throwing a party. The theme is 'Under the Sea', because Aimee is equally cruel and funny. 

"Would it cross the line into mean if I wore a mermaid outfit?" Aimee passes Nick down his drink: something fruity, in an extra-large glass, because the legless can get proper legless without ever having to drive home. "Or would it be slightly ironic and also make my tits look amazing?" 

Nick considers the mermaid costume as he takes an extra-large swig. "Mean, but also I think it would be good company," he decides. 

"Great. Because I already bought it. And it definitely makes my tits look amazing." Aimee pats the top of Nick's head. "Who knows, Grim. Maybe you'll meet your  _true love_ at this rager. A centaur, perhaps? For the species diversity." 

Nick makes a face. "Stop that. I'm being serious, you know I  _hate_ that phrase." 

"What?  _True love_?  _True love's kiss?_  Shouldn't have shagged that witch's clingy kid brother and let him down easy the next morning, then. Think he was all _about_ the 'true love'." Aimee smirks and plucks a cherry from the top of Nick's glass. 

Appropriately, but how was  _Nick_ supposed to have known that it was that bloke's first time? Or that he had an older sister who got a little hex-happy when she was hungover? Fucking hell. True love. Rubbish. 

"I'm storming off," Nick warns her. "I have to go slow 'cos I don't want to spill my drink. But I'm storming off, and you should know that. See if I give you any tips on tail flaps, Aimee Phillips." 

Aimee cackles, which Nick ignores as he swims carefully in the opposite direction, drink held aloft. 

"That was close," says a boy on the other side of the pool. He's got his legs dangled in the water and a big smile. He's really very pretty. If Nick were still the leg-having type, he'd be right in there. "Thought it was a goner for sure." 

"I  _know_ ," Nick sighs, putting the drink down at the edge. "First month, I think I spilled three times my body mass in vodka into this thing. I swear I got drunk from breathing the alcoholic pool water." 

The boy laughs like a kid, face all squinted up. "So d'you, like. Do you breathe the water?" 

Nick shrugs. He never has got a handle on all the science parts of magical science. "I think half and half? I can't be out of the water for too long or I start to go all flakey. Nasty. But I dunno, I'm a merman now, that's my life. I'm Nick, by the way." 

"I'm Harry," Harry says, and puts his hand out to shake. "Oh, you've got little webs between your fingers, look." 

Nick yanks his hand back and frowns at it. "I know, it's disgusting. Fuck, I'm sick of this. No offence to real merpeople, but I've gone right off the whole thing." 

"No, I..." Harry curls his toes up under the water. Nick can see. "I thought they were cute." 

"Oh." Nick looks at his hands. Cute. He had been thinking 'alien', or, 'slippery', but sure, cute. Okay. "Do you have a drink? Not that I can get you one, obviously, and you're not having mine, but I could point you in the right direction." 

Harry shakes his head. "You want anything while I'm up?" 

Harry clearly did not know what he was getting in for when he asked that question. Nick gives him a list fifteen items long that also includes several mini-errands involving the music playlist. Most people have learnt not to ask Nick that question, by now, is the thing. Nick feels a little bad about it after Harry scuttles off, but then Harry comes back. He hadn't really expected him to. 

"None of them had Heat magazine," Harry says, dumping a pile of things at the side of the pool and clambering down towards Nick's level. He spreads everything out easy, so Nick can reach. "But your friend — Gillian — she had a bunch of others, so I just sort of took everything. I hope that's okay." 

Nick blinks up at him. Harry really is  _very_ attractive. Like, proper, Disney prince, if Disney princes looked a bit like they'd been stranded on Venice Beach for a while with a credit card and quite a lot of time on his hands. This is... A bit _too_ good, actually, and something in Nick's gut squirms up tight. "Are they paying you?" 

"What?" 

"Are they paying you? My friends. To, like, be my... I don't know, my nurse companion? Because they think I'm lonely, right, so they want me to have a nursemaid or summat. Is that a thing? Do cursed merpeople get those?" 

Harry shakes his head slowly. "No? I just... Came to a party?" 

Nick feels a bit stupid, now. "Oh." 

“But if you wanted company sometimes, I could visit? I’m a student. I’ve got a lot of free time.” Harry grins, and Nick suppresses a sudden desire to poke his dimple. He’s not sure he could reach it, anyhow. 

- 

Harry visits. Actually, Harry visits _a lot_. It turns out he knows Pixie from… being a hot young person about town, or summat, and he turns up at her house more often than not. He brings stuff for Nick, as well: dumb little trinkets he picked up at some tourist place or underwater cameras that they take turns using to take photos of their best underwater bubbles. One day Harry steals Aimee’s mermaid costume and they sun together on the big rock in Pixie’s fake lagoon: one real merman, one with a polyester tail. Harry’s worn the top, as well. It looks bloody ridiculous over his tattoos, and Nick loves it utterly and completely. 

“Some fucking view,” Harry says, nodding at the sweep of the ocean beyond the pool. 

“Eh.” Nick closes his eyes. “I’ve grown practically immune to it, at this point, Harold.” 

“Have you really been here the whole time?” 

“Yep. Got me back from Coachella in a repurposed jacuzzi, but since then.” 

“That’s rubbish.” Nick can hear rather than see Harry’s pout, the stubborn set of that strong jaw. “Well, let’s take you out.” 

“Yeah,” snorts Nick. “Sure, okay. Let’s go out on the town. I’m a bit immobile, if you haven’t noticed.” 

“How long can you stand to be out of water?” 

Nick rolls his eyes. “I dunno. Haven’t tested it much, have I? Fifteen, twenty minutes?” 

“How long does it take to get to the beach?” 

Nick tips over to his side to fix Harry with his sternest of looks. “No,” Nick tells him. “Absolutely not.” 

Harry smirks. Nick… will not be persuaded. He won’t. Not even by that face. He refuses. He’s putting his fin down. He could _die_. He could wither and _die_ , or _drown,_ in the _air._ _Air drown_. He will not do this. No matter how much he’d like to see the ocean, he’s _not_. Harry can’t persuade him to _risk his life_. Not even with his most widest of eyes, or his most earnest of speeches. Nick will not be swayed. Nick’s fin is down. 

Nick’s fin is… a bit floppy, actually. 

Within an hour Harry is hoisting Nick up into his arms — into his _arms_ , if Nick weren’t too fucking terrified to _appreciate this moment_ — and running towards the car. They drive down — well, Harry drives, whilst screaming and swearing at anyone who dares to cut him off — and Nick dunks most of his body into the damp sheets and buckets of water Harry set up in the back of his car. It’s possible Harry’s car will smell like fish until the end of time, but when Nick’s clinging to Harry’s neck as he dashes across the sand he could swear they had their very own Disney film. Or Baywatch, because even a traumatised merNick isn’t so traumatised he can’t feel the press of those abdominal muscles against his hip. 

Nick _likes_ the ocean. Harry trips and tumbles him into it, but the middle he hits the salt he feels _good_. Even in the shallow bits. They swim for ages, Harry all pruny and clinging to Nick’s back as they go out further and further and then loop back. 

“Thanks for this,” Nick says, looking down so he doesn’t have to meet Harry’s eyes. The sky goes orange and pink, sending streaks of colour across the ocean spray. “And… Everything. The whole thing.” _You’re the only good part of all of this_ , he thinks, and then ducks underwater so he doesn’t say it. 

Harry ducks under after him. Nick can see him through the water, a bit distorted and green. He says something, bubbles tumbling from his mouth. 

“Sorry, didn’t catch that,” Nick says, but Harry shakes his head and goes to the surface. Nick comes up right after, as Harry’s shaking his hair out. “What?” 

Harry’s ears are pink. “Did you hear me? Underwater?” 

“No. Bubbles.” Nick demonstrates with his hands. “Can’t hear too well when that happens, unless you’re loud.” 

“I, uh.” Harry squints his face up. “I said… I like you.” 

“I like you too,” Nick says. His belly squirms. “Obviously. I mean, you’re okay. I guess.” 

“No, I _like_ you. Like, I want to kiss you. I want to… I dunno, take you out for dinner. Or in for dinner. And stuff. Other stuff.” 

“Other… Oh. I mean, I don’t…” Nick’s brain is mostly static, but he manages a vague wave towards where his hips go. “I don’t know how merpeople reproduce, generally, but I haven’t got…” 

“That’s okay.” Harry’s properly red now, and the colour is seeping through the tan on his chest. “I mean, I don’t… I just like you. A lot. Really a lot. And I wanted you to know, just… If you wanted. That’s… on the table.” 

Nick laughs a little manically. “Oh. Right. Cool, I… You, too. You too. I like you too.” 

“You do?” 

Harry looks genuinely surprised, which is hysterical, considering how subtle Nick’s _not been_ with the whole, fancying the swimming costume off of, business. 

Nick nods. 

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” 

Nick nods again, and stays as still as he can as Harry swims closer. He puts a hand very carefully to Nick’s cheek, stroking along the line of the bone. Up close, his eyes are the green of sea glass. 

 _Do not freak out_ , Nick thinks hazily, as Harry leans in. _Do not freak out_. 

Harry’s mouth tastes of salt. It tastes of salt, and it’s so _warm,_ and a burning coil of want drives through Nick’s belly as their tongues slip-slide against each other. Harry’s mouth goes slack and he moans, all limp and hot and Nick just wants to fucking _devour_ him and… 

Nick’s whole body goes hot and not in the good way. He breaks away from Harry and clutches his stomach, vision going all blurry and white. 

“Grim? Nick? What’s happening, why are — are you okay? Nick?” 

Harry sounds nervous and Nick would like to comfort him but he can’t quite get his body to do what he wants, it’s all white hot pain and swirling vision and… 

And the next thing he knows, he’s lying on sand with Harry knelt above him. He’s crying. Nick doesn’t like it, he doesn’t want Harry to cry. “Why are you crying?” Nick rasps, reaching up for Harry’s face. He doesn’t get very far. His arms don’t seem to want to be arms.  

“Nick, look, look,” Harry hiccups, smiling wetly and wiping at his face. 

Nick looks. 

He looks again.

“Feet,” he croaks, and wonders if he’s still dreaming. “Those are… Feet. I have… Harry, I have feet?” 

“Yeah,” Harry says, bending down to kiss Nick’s cheek, and then his forehead and then his nose. “Yeah, baby, you have feet.” 

Feet. Legs. No scales. 

“I’m gonna get arrested for public indecency,” Nick realises, gripping onto Harry’s back as hard as he can. He’s so fucking _glad_ to see his own dick, he wouldn’t care if he were extradited. A laugh bubbles out of Nick’s chest, and then another one, and then Harry’s laughing and then they’re both crying and holding on, twined up together like a pair of octopuses, or something. 

Legs. Nick has _legs_ again. 

Which… Oh, _hell_. True _fucking_ love. 

 Aimee’s never going to let him live this down. 

 


End file.
